Harry Potter and the Guardian of The Way
by backdrifter
Summary: My version of the sixth book. I've tried to stay as true to the feel of the series as I can (so this contains drama, adventure, humour, mystery, love, suspence etc) but at the same time have my own little flourish on it all.
1. Chapter One: Invitations

Dark clouds hovered ominously over the identical square houses of Little Whinging. In one of these identical square houses, in one of these identical, neat streets, was a very unusual room indeed.

For one thing, there was a cat flap in the door, accompanied by no less then three locks, and several ghostlike orange blotches that looked suspiciously like tomato soup stained the beige carpet.

At first glance, inside, it appeared to be a normal teenager's room; clothes littering the floor, half finished meals, and posters and cuttings plastered all over the walls. But on closer inspections, a visitor may notice the open cage in the corner, in which a snowy white owl was free to come and go, a book desperately straining against the belt that bound it, or that the posters and clippings actually contained pictures that moved. 

But perhaps the strangest thing in the room was the head and torso of a boy with untidy black hair, bright green eyes, and a thin, lightening shaped scare on his forehead. The legs that belonged to this boy currently hung dangerously over the window ledge, and were desperately waving in a hope to find the top of the trellis that was positioned slightly to the side of his window.

The reason for this method of exiting the house may seem a little strange to someone who does not know Harry Potter's situation well, but a more knowledgeable viewer will find it a perfectly acceptable explanation.

After the horrible incident the previous summer, in which Harry's cousin, Dudley's, soul was nearly sucked out by a Dementor, and given the knowledge of Voldemort's return, Harry had been confined to the house. If they couldn't banish him altogether from Little Whinging, or preferably from the whole of Britain, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could at least prevent their neighbours discovering their biggest secret if another attack happened; because Harry Potter was a wizard.

Since everywhere in the house he was followed by nervous glances, Harry kept mainly to his room, but even here he had little privacy. He was constantly interrupted by his Aunt Petunia, who, several times a day, would poke her nose round the door to check on him. Or check that he hadn't attracted some nasty little creature or something that would make a mess on her clean walls and floors. She would survey Harry and his room with a combination of emotions; largely fear and disgust, but Harry thought that he sometimes saw a look of compassion glint in her eyes.

So, whenever he had a letter to read, Harry would climb down the trellis, hurry down to the tall, deep privet hedge at the bottom of the garden, and bury himself in the stories and salutations that filled the envelopes that arrived daily with various owls.

Harry clutched the letter he'd received to his chest. It was early evening and an unusual time to receive an owl, and this one he didn't recognise. It had a stately look about it, and a proud posture. Hedwig wouldn't have like him, as she would've felt inferior; the owl radiated such an amount of power. Hedwig was used to being the noblest of her companions, though among these were owls such as Pig, Ron's small and excitable owl who could barely lift a letter without flying crazily out of control. Harry had heard his classmates complement her.

He looked down at the seal of the letter. It had the silhouette of a witch on a broomstick flying against the background of a full moon in the top right corner, and in the bottom left corner was a plant that looked suspiciously like devil's snare that curled up the side of the shield.

Harry slid his thumb underneath it, took out the parchment, and unfolded it inquisitively.

It was written in a hand he did not recognise, and he was curious as to who had sent him the letter. However, Harry didn't have to wait that long to find out whom it was from, and it made his stomach jump unpleasantly at the memory of his last encounter with the author of the letter.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_Yourself and my grandson, Neville, have been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for some time, and it has come to my attention that you and my grandson share the same birthday. Therefore I would like to invite you to a celebratory dinner. Obviously, I'm sure you'd like to spend the day itself with your family, so the date of the dinner would be 1st August._

_Please reply as promptly as possible,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mrs. Longbottom_

For a moment, as he remembered Neville's mother and the bubble gum wrapper, Harry's stomach wrenched in sympathy for Neville, and his mind, which near to constantly dwelt on the events of the previous month, was briefly torn away from the death of Sirius. But his thoughts slowly made their way back. After all, Neville's parents were there because of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Bellatrix Lestrange…

Harry shivered and clutched his stomach. Every time he thought of Sirius' death he felt a jolt in his stomach and the feeling he was about to throw up. There were so many things that were his fault. If he'd studied Occlumancy properly, Sirius would be alive. If he'd opened the package containing the mirror, Sirius would be alive. If he'd spoken to Sirius about how useless the man was feeling, Sirius would be alive. There were so many moments that Harry looked back on, and could say 'Sirius would be alive if I had done this' or 'hadn't done that'. He knew he hadn't killed Sirius, but in his mind, he was already a murderer.

Why already? You may ask. Because if he didn't become a murderer, he would be murdered himself. It was prophesised and the prophecy had to be true, because it had already been partly fulfilled, and the same person had made a true prophecy over two years before that had rung as true as daylight.

All summer he'd been preparing himself for this moment that had to happen. He'd been convincing himself that it wasn't bad to murder Lord Voldemort, because dozens, hundreds, would live, and thousands would live without fear. It was fine to kill Voldemort because he was barely human. But always nagging at the back of Harry's mind was that Voldemort was still flesh and blood, and though he was barely human, he was still human, he had a mind, a soul and, deep, deep down, he had a heart.

Harry shook himself free from these morbid thoughts and pulled out a quill and ink from his bag. He scrawled out a hasty reply, but thought better of the brief and simple acceptance. He pulled out another scroll of parchment and wrote a polite and dignified letter to Neville's grandmother.

After a pause Harry pulled out another scroll of parchment and wrote Neville a friendly letter. The whole time the fact that it could've been Neville in his position stuck in his mind. Neville was in a situation quite similar to Harry's, when you looked at it in a certain light. Harry wondered which was worse; dead parents or crazy parents who don't even recognise you. He didn't even remember his parents, so he couldn't really miss them. Neville must've gotten a lot of grief from his grandmother when she thought he was a squib. He still got a lot of grief from her though he was about to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts. And then there was the birthday.

This got him thinking about the links between himself and Voldemort. It was funny about that. The coincidences between himself and Voldemort and himself and Neville were quite amazing. If his fate was mixed up with Voldemort's, why couldn't it be mixed up with Neville's too? All that past year, before he knew about the prophecy, he'd felt himself grow closer to Neville. In the DA, he'd swelled with pride at the boy's progress, and had grown a strong sense of protectiveness for him. This had existed as long as he'd known Neville, but it had never been this strong.

Harry rolled over onto his back and scratched his neck thoughtfully. He could see the coming out stars through the foliage above him. Tilting his head to the side, he began to name the stars and constellations in his head. His eyes rested on Orion. That was the only constellation that he'd known before Hogwarts, and that he'd been able to identify. The others seemed to be evasive and unwilling to be identified, but Orion had always seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

He parted his lips and began to sing gently to himself, so silently that his voice cracked trying to keep at that level.

_'Twinkle, twinkle little star_

_How I wonder what you are_

_Up above the sky so high_

_Like a di… diamond in – the – sky…'_

He stuttered to a gradual halt and stared up at the sky. Just as he decided to reach over and grab another letter, a dark shape briefly blotted out the constellation of Orion. Harry sat up with a start.

'Hedwig,' he said, pleased. 'You got something for me?'

The owl hooted softly as she dropped a small rat in his lap. Harry grinned as he held it up by the tail and chucked it at her, and she caught it and commenced ripping it to pieces. Harry watched her in silence, and when she had finished, he tied his two letters tenderly to her legs and watched her fly away.

Harry turned again to the letters, and chose one. He smiled when he recognised Ron's handwriting, and ripped it open enthusiastically.

_Dear Harry,_ it read

_We wanted to invite you to ours for your birthday, you know, all the family together - after all, you might as well have fluorescent red hair and freckles - but mum said you'd want to spend it with your 'real' family, so we can't. How about the day after, then? We can have a party celebrating your escape from the Dursleys'._ _Hermione arrived yesterday, and she and Ginny are up to their usual giggling. Can you believe that Dean Thomas? The cheek of it! You know, you think you know a guy, and he just goes sneaking around your back. I'm mean we've slept in the same room for five years! Five years, Harry._ _Mum's screaming at me to come down to dinner, so I'm off._ _Ron_

Harry brightened up thoroughly at the thought of seeing Ron again. Ron'll make him feel better.

He missed his friends at Hogwarts; he so desperately wanted their company. He found that in his isolation, though he had his family (which were better than nothing, though not much) and his letters, he couldn't help but dwell on the issues that insinuated his life more and more. It was like trying to stop yourself from hearing, if you try, even the silence becomes a roaring din. He knew that if he didn't try to keep himself above water, he'd sink into a depression a deep as the deep Atlantic Ocean.

So, he'd found a way to battle it. All he had to do was pretend that he was stuck in Azkaban, and that he had to struggle to keep his sanity. He felt that this disrespected Sirius and his incarceration in the prison, but it was the only way he could enthusiastically deal with the problem.

Harry wrote a brief letter to Ron explaining that he couldn't arrive until the day after, as he'd already accepted an invitation from Neville, but that the good thing was that he could just use the floo powder to get to the Burrow.

Harry sent Hedwig off with the letter and stretched himself out on the ground. He produced a Kit Kat from his pocket, and chuckled for the umpteenth time at the caption; 'Remember – you are not a salmon'. He opened the packet, wishing that they were still made with the old packaging; running your thumb along the foil and breaking off a length was so satisfying. He snapped off a piece and bit the end off. These were the moments he lived for. So simple, just those tiny comforts that you usually passed off, took for granted. But Harry didn't take it for granted. These little moments were like little pools of moonlight shining down into to dark, dank cave.

Life at the Dursley's was mundane and boring, the only times that disproved this trend was when he climbed down from his room, and read his letters. But even this didn't compare to the time that came after the letters were read, and he was left in the silence and a calm tranquillity came over him. Even if it just lasted a few minutes, it was enough. He couldn't ask for more than that.

He checked his pockets for anything else edible, but found nothing except bits of fluff. Dudley, and therefore the rest of the household, was still on the diet, but its severity was much reduced, largely due to Dudley's participation in the school boxing club. He no longer spent half the day, when he was unable to help himself to snacks because of Aunt Petunias watchful eyes, hungry, and was quite satisfied with the situation, because he still had the amusement when Dudley got a jam doughnut or jumbo packet of crisps confiscated.

'ARRRGGGGH!'

Harry jumped up, sending an owl flying. It squawked and flapped it wings at him, but deposited a letter at his feet anyway and flew off with contempt. Harry must have been dozing off, because the owl had had to jump on his face and peck at his ear to get his attention. When Harry's heart slowed down sufficiently, he reached over to the letter and froze, straining his ears out into the night.

There was someone in the garden next door. They must've heard him yell. The footsteps were soft and quiet. Whoever it was, they were placing their feet cautiously on the ground as they walked. Surely someone curious about the noise he'd made would call out. Who's there? Hello? Maybe they had, but he'd gone temporally deaf. Harry tried to stop himself thinking, because he knew where his thoughts would lead him. Paranoid delusions would run rife through his mind, and he'd panic. His heart rate would speed, beating out it's own rhythm, sweat would start to accumulate under his armpits, his mouth would dry out.

Where had the noise gone? He held his breath. Sh!t. Where was it? He gripped his arm and dug his nails in with frustration. Then he heard the soft, wet sound of a mouth softly open. Harry let out his breath slowly and kept his ears open.

The fence creaked and, in the darkness, Harry saw two hands grasp hold of the top of it. The hands were followed by a pair of eyes that rose up unsteadily, and then swayed around a bit before disappearing out of sight with and thud and a curse. The eyes were wide and looked startled, intense in a kind of strained way. They rose up a second time, and Harry could just make out them sweeping the garden, and they disappeared, and after a scrambling noise they were back up, and a girl's face followed this time. She looked like she could be a pretty girl in the darkness, and a sharp tongue poked out between her teeth and her lips in the effort of maintaining her position. She had a round face, though her chin was slightly pointed, and her hair was quite unkempt, though that was probably because she'd been asleep a little while before.

Harry lay there taking her in, she didn't live here last year, he was positive, and this year he hadn't seen her, because mainly he only came out at night. Maybe Aunt Petunia could tell him about their new neighbours, maybe they'd have a boy near Harry's age. He wouldn't ask straight out, of course, Petunia would tell him it's none of his business, he'd have to find something that she would react to, and criticism so she'd start gossiping; Aunt Petunia loved complaining about people.

Harry froze yet again as those roaming eyes rested on _him_. He stared back at her, unable to break her gaze.

'What are you doing?' she asked, her face creasing up in a puzzled frown.

'I, eh… I…' Harry said, his brain stuck in neutral.

The girl waited patiently.

'I couldn't sleep,' Harry finally managed to say as his brain kick-started. 'It's so hot in my room, I thought I'd get outside.'

She nodded thoughtfully.

'Do you,' she said. 'Do you live here? Only I haven't seen you before, and I've been here nearly a year. That boy, eh, De-, Du-,'

'Dudley,' Harry said.

'Yeah,' grinned the girl. 'That's it. Well, Dudley, _he_ goes to boarding school,' she cringed her face in disapproval, 'but he came back at Christmas, and Easter, and you…'

'I, eh, I go to a boarding school to, just a different one, special. I, eh, I have special needs. They're kind of personal.'

Harry congratulated himself on this explanation, and they weren't even that far off the truth. After all, it was special to get magical training, and it is personal, no muggles, unless they have magical family, should know about it.

'Oh, right,' said the girl, and she didn't seem that bothered about knowing what was so personal, just content with the information she had. 'I'm Lau…'

Once again she crashed out of sight and a string of swearwords, which quite impressed Harry, as she didn't repeat a single one, came shooting out from behind the fence. Harry looked around the garden quickly, and found a large, empty terracotta pot, which he manoeuvred over to where 'Lau' had been standing, or hanging, as it was, and turned it over. He climbed up onto it, and peered over the fence. He saw the girl sitting down and looking irritable in the middle of a destroyed bed of flowers.

'Harry,' he said. She looked up at him and frowned.

'What?' she said.

'I'm Harry,' he said. 'Harry Potter.'

She laughed unexpectedly.

'You have such a boring name,' she said. Harry looked slightly offended, and her mouth formed an o of apologetic explanation.

'I never thought I'd find somebody with a name as boring as mine,' she said. 'Laura Jones. I bet there are a million of me in Britain alone.'

'Yeah… Harry Potter,' he repeated.'

This had got to be the first time in years where someone hadn't gaped open mouthed the mention of his name, their eyes racking his forehead for a sign of his famous scar. Even things like, you look so much like your father, or, you have your mother's eyes, which once made him beam with pride, was starting to grate on him. He was feeling increasingly relaxed and free of the stresses of his school life.

'Looking forward to getting your results?'

Harry looked sharply down at Laura, his mouth slightly open. She didn't know about his OWLs, did she? How could she? He'd been too worried about other things to think about them much, but when he remembered them his stomach would twist up into a tight little knot.

'Your GCSEs?' Laura said. 'No need to look so confused. You are in year eleven, right? Or were, or something. Unless you do some weird thing at that boarding school of yours, like 'O' levels.'

Year eleven? Seven, plus one two three four five, eleven.

'Oh, yeah,' he said. 'I try not to think about them. GCSEs are just so stressful.'

'Yeah, that's the spirit,' said Laura. She squinted down the garden to her house. 'I'm gonna go back inside. I'll see you another time…?'

'Yeah, sure,' said Harry.

'Greayt,' she said, and started off down the garden. Harry jumped down from the pot and scratched his head. That was one of the only proper conversations he had during the holidays, even though it was a very short one. The only other times were when he spoke with Mrs Figg, which were far and few between. Since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon thought she had nothing to do with magic, she'd come by playing the annoying, attention seeking elderly woman, and talk to Harry on the sly when they weren't paying attention.

According to her, there were still wizards and witches from the order, as well as a couple of daft Ministry employees, keeping an eye on him. They were brilliant at hiding, because the only signs he'd found of them were a couple of cracks of them apparating or disapparating and the rind of a sandwich in the place where one of them had come from.

Harry looked down at the letter in his hand, and sat down on the plant pot. It had a Hogwarts seal on it. His stomach jolted. This was his results. The envelope was thick and heavy, which was a good sign, wasn't it? He turned it over and read the address, written in the familiar green ink.

He hurried back down to the end of the garden, and clambered back up the trellis to his room. He turned on a lamp, not the main lamp. Harry started rooting around in his room, found what he was looking for, and started clearing a space in his floor.

With a fork he prised up a loose floorboard. He used to keep his school things there when he wasn't allowed to have them, but now his aunt and uncle knew they couldn't lock them away anymore, he kept the things that were special to him in there.

He stuck his arm down into the hole and rummaged around, eventually withdrawing a box. With a key, which was what he had been looking for and was on a silver chain, he unlocked the box and looked cautiously at the contents.

He locked it again, and, clutching it and the Hogwarts letter to his chest, returned to his hiding place in the garden.

Harry unlocked it again and this time started to remove the contents of the box. One by one he laid the long shards of mirror on the ground, matching them up like a puzzle. He'd done this many times before, as even when he extracted a piece from the box which had none of it's neighbours laid down yet, he placed them without hesitation.

This, as you might have guessed already, was the remains of the mirror Sirius had given him. When it was whole, and when Sirius had been alive, all Harry had to do was look in it and call his name and they'd be in contact. Harry knew Sirius was gone, but he couldn't help bringing this out now and again. He half imagined that Sirius could still see him through it, and Harry wanted him there when he opened his results. He could even picture it on a wall in his marriage, if he ever got that far.

Harry looked a his fractured image in the mirror and whispered out into the night, watching his lips form the words;

'Sirius! Sirius.'

Nothing happened. In fact, everything seemed to get even stiller than it was before. Harry sighed and turned back to the letter. This was it. He'd know whether he'd be able to become an Auror or not. He couldn't imagine being anything but an Auror. Working in the Ministry like Mr Weasley? No. Code breaking like Bill? Well, it sounded exciting, but he didn't study ancient runes. Charlie's job? That would be alright, he had already proved that he could deal with dragons, but it brought up too many bad memories. Quidditch? Now, there was something. But, only for a decade or so, then he'd be chucked off for being too old. What would he do then? Mad-Eye Moody was ancient, and still an Auror. He couldn't see himself in the Weasley twins' job, teaching, or tons of other jobs.

Harry weighed the envelope on the palm of his hand. It was thick and heavy, so that must be a good sign? Harry could feel his stomach turning somersaults. It felt like the bacon he'd eaten at lunchtime had suddenly come alive and was trying to eat him from the inside out, or that the fish he'd had for dinner was swimming around in his guts. Harry didn't seem to be able to open it. On one hand it could lighten his life, if only temporarily, but on the other hand, if the results were bad…

Harry violently tore open the letter. If he stopped to think about it he knew he'd never do it. His mind would work out the old cliché that what he did not know would not hurt him. Several folded pieces of paper fell to the floor. He picked one which had fallen further away from the others up and turned it over. He stared down at his OWLs grades.

He was confronted with several surprises and disappointments.

_Transfiguration_-------------------E

_Potions_----------------------------E

_Charms_---------------------------E

_Herbology_------------------------E

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_--O

_History of Magic_-------------------A

_Astronomy_------------------------P

_Divination_-------------------------D

_Care of Magical Creatures_-------A

Four Exceeds Expectations, he was impressed. The two he failed Harry wasn't too worked up about, in the Astronomy exam there'd been an incident when half a dozen wizards had attacked Hagrid out on the grounds, and he hadn't expected to do well at all in Divination, though he had hoped for Poor rather then Dreadful. Ah well, at least it wasn't a Troll.

His Potion grade brought up mixed feelings. First of all, he never felt like Potions was an 'Exceeds Expectations' subject for him, but he need an 'O' to study it in his NEWTs, and therefore become an Auror. Harry sighed. He remembered McGonagal saying that if it was the last thing she'd do she'd help him, but that was only in the face of Umbridge. Harry shuddered in the memory and touched the back of his hand, but she was gone now, as was Harry's chance at becoming an Auror.

Harry picked up another piece of paper. It was about the subjects you could do for NEWT levels. It said that you could do a maximum of five NEWTs, but had to do a minimum of three. Well, if he studied to become an Auror, he'd have to study five, now he could just trundle along with three.

He put it down, he'd finish that later, it had descriptions of the courses and stuff you could do next year. He picked up another piece of paper and swore. In big, bold letters, it said 'You have been invited to a presentation on what it is like to be an Auror.' Harry immediately ripped up the letter, which made him feel a lot better, and picked up the details on NEWTs again.

Defense Against the Dark Arts would be up there, as long as they had a half decent teacher he'd enjoy that, and he always done well at it. Charms, too, maybe Herbology, definitely not Divination.

He nearly kicked himself when he skimmed through the Potions description and noticed the minimum OWLs grade. 'E'. Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He could still study Potions. In all his time at Hogwarts, he'd never thought he'd feel this good about being able to study that damn subject. He grinned out at the world, and then noticed the scraps of paper on the ground.

He dived down and frantically started to piece them back together.

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I'm a slow writer, so the chapters won't come that quickly; but after the next one (which is nearly finished) they're going to be smaller so they'll be quicker to write.

**Comments for some of the reviews:**

May contain _**slight** _spoilers, so don't read if you are one of those really finicky people who don't like any kind of revealing of a book, like me.

loverdaisy520: I woudn't worry about the Laura thing; she's a muggle and Harry is spending most of the year at Hogwarts. Plus I don't think a slight love interest at this stage would effect the Ginny/Harry thing, after all, Ginny has had a lot of boyfriends, and probably still has one now.

LunaSealeaf: No, Laura isn't me; none of the characters are based on me or anyone I know, or at least not any more than the odd habit or way of talking.


	2. Chapter Two: Two Cages

Harry awoke with a sudden jolt and his heart beating quick and strong. What was that? BANG! The whole house shook. BANG! No, it was just his wall. He got up; eye's wide and panicking. He'd been waiting for this moment for the whole of the holidays. The newspapers were full of the news of Voldemort's return, though now it had receded to merely a page four phenomenon. Harry had once again taken to obsessively monitoring the news. He had just received his paper at five that morning, which was only, he discovered when he checked his watch, forty minutes ago.

BANG! In a few seconds Harry had his wand ready in his hand and cautiously went out into the corridor. BANG! It was coming from Dudley's room. Harry's stomach plummeted downwards. Though he hated his cousin with all his heart, he hated even the mere though of what a Death Eater might do to him. BANG! What were they doing to him in there? He couldn't bear to think about it. BANG!bag was pushed against the wall, and Dudley himself standing there with a look of sheer sadistic pleasure on his face. This look didn't last long, though. When Dudley saw Harry's crazed face (and it was crazed by now, believe me) shaking from anticipation of horrors, and his wand clutched tightly in his had, so his knuckles were white from the strain, the blood drained from Dudley's face, and he toppled over backwards as he tried to make an escape over his television, which crashed to the floor after him

Harry composed himself in an instant, raising his wand to shoulder height, his had stretching out for the doorknob. He counted to himself in his head, five, four, three, two, one…

What he saw was this; Dudley's punch

Harry lowered his wand, his heavy breathing slowing down with relief, and he closed his eyes elatedly. Dudley had obviously thought it would be funny to wake Harry up at twenty to six in the morning, and had demonstrated a strange, mediocre imaginative ability that Harry was quite taken aback at. Maybe Dudders wasn't staying at the eleven year old mental level that Harry had always that. No, this was definitely a twelve year olds thinking.

Dudley was cowering in the corner, half dazed by his apparent attack from a television. Harry felt an odd pang of compassion to his large relative, and felt he should comfort the little guy.

'It's alright, Dudley,' he said gently (Dudley flinched when Harry started talking). 'I though it was something else. I didn't mean to scare you.'

Dudley looked up with him with the expression of a terrified animal, which slowly faded, and Dudley took Harry's had to help him up. This odd moment of union between the two teenagers did not stop Dudley from pushing Harry over forcefully, but Harry only laughed; it was the only thing he could do at the moment.

''m tellin' Mum,' said Dudley, in his I'm-not-an-upper-class-suburban-privately-educated-mamma's-boy voice. 'You're gonna ge' i' sooo bad when she comes home.'

'Look, Dud,' said Harry, trying not to laugh. 'I seriously didn't want to scare, or hurt, or do anything to harm you. I'd explain it to you, but you don't like hearing about this stuff, just trust me.'

Harry pushed himself up onto his elbow and thrust his hand out towards Dudley. After an initial hesitation, Dudley reluctantly grasped it and pulled Harry up.

'Besides,' laughed Harry. 'If you tell your mum, I could tell her about your little party.'

Dudley frowned. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were off for a long weekend somewhere rural, and Dudley and Harry were left alone. So, seeing the opportunity in this event, Dudley had arranged a party.

'You wouldn't,' Dudley said. 'And she wouldn't believe you.'

Dudley still couldn't help but look worried despite this, and Harry decided to not blackmail the boy, though it would be fun. He'd just thought Dudley was being horribly murdered, and even though he thought Dudley one of the most ugly personalities he'd met, he couldn't suppressed the relief of seeing him alive and well. Who'd have thought that over the years of bullying and maltreatment, that Harry would've developed some kind of protectiveness towards his cousin.

'Don't worry,' shrugged Harry. 'I'd probably get in more trouble than you. I wont tell.'

The two boys stood awkwardly for a moment, each seeming to suddenly find their feet very interesting.

'You know,' said Dudley gruffly. 'You can come if you want. I mean, you don't have to stay in your room if you help tidy up. As long as you sort out the stuff in your room, all that _weird_ stuff.'

Harry nodded.

'Yeah, thanks,' he said. 'I'll help, and I'll start on my room after I eat.'

'You better,' said Dudley, who seemed to feel like he should say something threatening. Harry nodded again and turned to leave the room. He paused in the hallway.

'Have they left yet?' he asked, meaning his aunt and uncle.

'Yeah, 'bout fifteen minutes ago,' said Dudley, before adding in a sneer, 'They didn't want to wake you. Thought they'd get away from you freak as fast as possible.'

Harry ignored this and went down into the kitchen. That had to be the longest conversation with Dudley he had had since… well, ever. Every other time the conversation would be cut short by Dudley's fist in his face, that or the knowledge of Harry's magic causing ikkle Dudders to nearly piss his pants.

Harry wondered down to the kitchen and made himself some toast. He was looking forward to a few Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon free days, and he resolved to make the most of it. For one thing, he could watch the news in peace. He'd bought himself a radio so he could listen to the news every hour on the hour, and in more detail at least once a day, but it would be satisfying watching it on the television without his legal guardians making faces and provoking him into a raging argument. He'd have a relatively free run of the house, the only problem was Dudley, and it seemed that as long as Harry was cautious, even that great big fat lump wouldn't be too much trouble.

Calling Dudley a 'great big fat lump' wasn't entirely accurate anymore. He was more of a 'big fat lump', as his diet and new found passion of boxing seemed to be finally kicking in. He was now down to just two or three chins, and only one pair of man breasts. And of what body mass was still there, a significant proportion seemed to be made out of muscle, much to Harry's dread.

As Harry sat down to eat his breakfast, he savoured the piece and quiet that he was experiencing the peaceful silence that he seldom got while spending time in most of the house. He decided to eat his lunch in the garden. The sun was shining brightly and the day was rapidly becoming hotter, and he couldn't wait to get into the bright, summer sun. He hadn't got many opportunities to feel the sun on his face, and it was evident in his pale and slightly pasty complexion. Perhaps he could get a bit of a tan, so he wouldn't arrive at school looking like a ghost. He'd been tempted to use Aunt Petunia's fake tan, but the orange effect it produced on the woman's leathery skin put him off.

He'd become more and more vain, but he'd encouraged this. It was something that took his mind off, Iother/I things. It also gave him something to do in his room other than read and brood. He was still rather a skinny boy, and showed little signs of bulking up so he'd taken things into his own hands. He exercised in his room, smuggling Uncle Vernon's virtually brand new (for the amount they'd been used) weights, and purchasing a couple of instructional books. They didn't seem to be that effective, as yet, but it gave him something to obsess about. He didn't over do it, though, as he'd learnt early on that if he did that, the next day he was barely able to blink his eyes without causing a spasm of pain.

Harry knew, however, that he was unlikely to get to the point of being able to stand up to Dudley. He still had, and was likely to always have, the weight advantage. Dudley also spent a lot of the time he spent at home training, though he spent most of his time in the way he'd done the previous summer; vandalising, bullying and trying (and succeeding, at least in appearance) impress his band thick (in both mind and body) followers. They'd be at the party tonight, and Harry knew that he'd rather avoid being in most of the guests presence. But Harry had a plan, albeit quite a simple one.

After breakfast, Harry went up to his room and began to clear away anything magical that would induce any suspicion as promised. However, his work was slow in progress, as he constantly kept glancing out of the window as if looking for something.

It was noon by the time he'd shifted everything that needed hiding into the hollow beneath the loose floorboard. The room looked quite bare now, almost like a prison cell. Harry to one last look out of the window before sighing and wondering back downstairs to the kitchen.

He made himself a sandwich and a cold, refreshing drink, went outside and threw himself down on the lawn. The grass was warm a humid and provided a soft, comfortable mat to lie down on. Hmmm…this was the life. That posturing fool and stuck up wife were away for a weekend, and he didn't seem to be getting pummelled by the mini posturing fool. Things suddenly started to look bright in Harry's eyes. In a few days, he'd be out of this place, and then he'd just have one summer of Dursleyness to get through. After that? Freedom.

'Harry!'

Harry, who had just taken a big bite of his sandwich and was now chasing it down with his drink, spluttered and choked on his food, sending bits of bread, cheese, and orange juice spraying out of his mouth. He looked around and felt his face going bright red from a combination of the choking and the embarrassment.

'Harry! I'm up here! In the window.'

Harry looked up to see Laura poking her head out of the first floor window. He blushed a deeper red and waved at her. He swallowed his mouthful and shouted back up at her.

'Hi!,' he said. 'I…You surprised me.'

Laura laughed.

'I can see that…hey, I'll grab something to eat and I'll come down and join you. We can have a picnic! Is that alright?'

Harry nodded, and Laura grinned and mirrored his nod before disappearing back through the window. Harry groaned. Oh, he'd made a fool of himself. He touched his cheek and felt it burn. He hoped to god that he hadn't blushed like Ron had a habit of doing. Maybe he was turning into a Weasley; he was virtually a member of the family now, like a close cousin.

A couple of minutes later Laura bounced out into her own garden with a plate of some interesting looking salad.

'Right,' she said. 'Com'ere, Harry, take this. Thank you. Hmmm…let's see, oh yes, here we are.'

Harry held her plate and listened to the odd clanging noises that were floating over from her side of the fence. He shifted his feet awkwardly and cleared his throat. A second later a ladder hit the top of the fence with a loud bang, which was promptly followed by a scrambling noise and Laura herself jumping from the top onto Aunt Petunia's favourite fluorescent pink begonias.

'Whoops,' she said, lifting a foot gingerly. 'I wasn't looking where I was landing. Sorry about that.'

'Oh, that's alright,' said Harry as he passed her back her salad.

They sat down on the grass and after an awkward silence soon fell into an easy conversation. It turned out that Laura had attended Stonewall Comprehensive School for the last year, much to Harry's interest, as if it hadn't been for his invitation to Hogwarts he'd have spent the last five years going there, too. Who knows, Laura and he could've been in the same class, as they were in the same year, or even friends. Maybe they might've… Harry stopped his thoughts there; this was the first civilised conversation he'd had with someone who didn't draw a pension for nearly two months, and he didn't want to complicate things with her.

Laura's opinion of Stonewall wasn't the best – she said she wouldn't eat anything from the canteens unless it had been sealed in an airtight package before arriving at the school. She didn't like most of the students, only finding a couple of people who she felt were worthy of talking to. Laura reckoned that the grey uniforms had affected most people's personalities, even the teachers, who were decidedly boring. But Laura spoke all this with a smile on her face, as she mentioned every now and again how she had gotten into another nearby school called Cherrin Road School.

'I don't think I could bare going to that dump for sixth form,' said Laura as she popped an olive into her mouth and gestured for Harry to eat the last one, which he did. 'They teachers don't give a sh!t, and besides, when I visited the sixth form common room, they had the worst radio station on. I know some people from Cherrin Road, and they're nice, plus my friends from Stonewall are going there, too.'

'The thing I like about sixth form, is that you have less subjects,' said Harry, who was getting the hang of translating Hogwarts into the equivalent in muggle education. Laura nodded vigorously.

'Only four subjects,' she said. 'It'll be so much easier to focus. Hey, what subjects are you studying?'

Harry listed a few of the muggle subjects he used to study.

Laura frowned slightly.

'You're not…you're not studying _five_ subjects, are you?' she said in shock.

Harry faltered for a second, realising that he'd listed too many subjects.

'Errr,' he said. 'I, uh, can't decide between chemistry and physics. I don't want to do both.'

Laura took this as the truth without a second thought and proceeded to list her own subjects. Harry was a bit thrown off by his mistake, and he felt uneasy talking about things that he had to bluff through from start til finish, so he decided to change the subject.

'My cousin's throwing a party tonight,' he said. 'Why don't you come? I could do with some decent conversation for once.'

'Oh, I've been invited already,' said Laura. 'Dudley's only here about three or four months out of the year, so he doesn't know Ithat/I many people around here. I can even bring up to four others, he said.'

'Oh,' said Harry. 'I'll see you there, then.'

At that moment the back door opened, and Harry heard Dudley waddle out into the sunlight. Laura waved and called out to him.

'All right, Derek,' she said.

'Dudley,' said Harry and Dudley at the same time.

'Oh, yes,' said Laura, laughing. 'Sorry, De-Dudley. I seem to have a mental block on your name.'

'I'll live,' Dudley grunted. 'Nice weather we're having, aren't we?'

Harry nearly baulked. Talking about the weather?! Brushing off someone forgetting his name? This didn't sound like Dudley. But then it struck him. Dudley spent most of the year in a school where the only students were boys. Dudley didn't know how to act around Laura, because she was a girl. Not that Dudley was starved for female company; but the girls that he hung around with at the playground seemed to be quite _forward_, outgoing characters. They didn't seem to have many manners or standards so neither did Dudley.

'Yes,' said Laura, suppressing a smirk. '_Aw_fully good weather we're having, perfect for a picnic. We thought we'd take advantage of it, and here we are, picnicking.'

Harry tried to work out whether Dudley could tell she was mocking him, putting on ridiculous post accent, but he merely looked slightly uncomfortable and a little confused.

'Yes,' he said, and then added after a pause. 'I ought to get on with…what I was doing. Goodbye.'

And with that we disappeared inside.

'See you later, Dustin,' she called after him.

'It's Dudley, Laura,' said Harry.

'I remembered this time,' she grinned. 'But I couldn't help it. He's so adorable; it's too good not to make fun of him a just a little bit.'

Harry had never heard or thought he'd ever hear that word used to describe Dudley by anyone else but Aunt Petunia. But she seemed to be using it a bit like the word pathetic, so Harry just smiled at the obscenity of the idea.

'Anyway,' she added. 'He's a big boy. He can look after himself.'

-0-

'Right, Harry,' said Suzie, who sat next to him on the old sofa that he'd managed to keep for his room. 'You're… suffering from some kind of multiple personality disorder that needs special treatment.'

'Nope,' said Harry, grinning from ear to ear.

'Lets see,' said Jez, a funny looking boy with a lazy eye, dark hair and a wild, ecstatic laugh that you couldn't help joining in with even if you didn't have a clue on earth what was so funny. 'You haven't got multiple personality disorder or chronic constipation, you're not retarded, you're not suicidal, you're not a serial killer, kleptomaniac, _or_ anymphomaniac… thank you very much for that contribution, Simon…' (at this point Simon stood up and bowed to enthusiastic cheers and applause) 'so, the reason you go to a 'special' school is… you're a compulsive liar Iand/I all the rest of it, but you just haven't told us the truth cause you can't help lying!'

The room burst into cheers and applause again, this time much louder, and Jez took his turn to bow.

'Thank you very much,' he said. 'You've been a wonderful audience tonight, and that, Harry is…?'

'The wrong answer!' finished Harry. 'Well,' he added to a disappointed looking Jez. 'At least you got a standing ovation…'

'I know I hit on the truth, Harry,' said Jez, turning his nose up in a superior, all knowing look as Laura and Suzie giggled. 'You're just lying again…'

'Maybe,' said Harry, 'but I guess you'll never be certain about that.'

'Oh, we'll never guess,' yawned Laura. 'And if we do, he'll probably just say it isn't. Let's just say he goes to a secret school hidden in the highlands of Scotland that teaches it's students magic, and he likes to spend most of his free time flying around on a broomstick.'

There followed nods and agreements around the room, a couple of people proclaiming that this was the most logical explanation, and expressing their bafflement about how they didn't think of that before, as it was so obvious. Harry tried not to look surprised and uncomfortable, and when someone asked him to confirm it as the truth, he just said,

'Yep, you've hit it on the nail. I really didn't think you'd guess, but I suppose I was wrong…'

The conversation moved swiftly onwards, much to Harry's relief, and time drifted onwards.

The party had begun several hours earlier, most of the guests being rude boys, with a liberal sprinkling of rude girls into the mix. Laura had arrived with four friends, Susan, Simon, Gemma and Fred, and after mingling among the other guests for a while, decided that she'd prefer to spend her time with Harry than any of the other guests, dragged her friends around in search of him, who was in his room making sure anything dodgy was out of site.

Harry was quite surprised at the coincidence that Gemma and Fred were twins, though they looked nothing like each other. Gemma was a small girl brown hair who had planted herself next to him on the sofa as soon as she came in and started asking delving questions about him, and in response to one of her questions Laura had proclaimed that Harry was 'special' which later led to the others guessing what was so special about his school. On the other hand, Fred was tall, gangly and blond, and reminded him a bit of Ron, though in a quieter, softer spoken way. He and Gemma constantly made digs at each other, and on one occasion nearly attacked each other, but generally it was all in good fun and they were just bantering. He made a note to tell Fred and George about this coincidence.

Simon was pale, sandy haired, a bit of a joker and was constantly making sexual innuendos. Susan seemed to have the job of occasionally scolding Simon so he didn't get to over enthused or too graphic. She had dark hair and green eyes and looked a little like Harry, so Simon had grabbed Susan and placed her next to Harry.

'No-no-no-no-no,' Simon had said. 'You sit there, Suzie, or I'll sit on you, and you wouldn't like that, would you?'

Suzie went on to explain that Simon was mentally deficient, which he demonstrated by collapsing on the floor yelling out 'My garas has pakoodled!! My garas has pakoodled!' over and over again. At this point Dudley came into the room with a face full of suppressed fear (he'd obviously heard the noise and thought Harry was up to something) and gave Harry an accusing look. Simon promptly leapt up, brushed himself down, and started talking to a rather confused looking Dudley about the weather. Dudley hurried out as soon as he could, though that was difficult, as Simon didn't seem to want to let him go.

Jez, the dark haired, lazy-eyed boy with the crazy laugh, was a new acquaintance to all those present. Fred had found him whilst on a trip to the kitchen to get drinks for everyone, and had decided to rescue the rather miserable looking boy in the middle of some rude boy style topic of conversation. Jez, proper name Jeremy, had recently moved into the area. He seemed to be a mixture between Fred and Simon. He was a fast talker and at points Harry had to concentrate to keep up with him. He had a fondness for fancy words, and sprinkled them into his long, winding speeches when he wanted them to sound joking.

Harry was thoroughly content, he felt completely at ease with these people, and he realised that that was because they were completely at ease with him and themselves. Generally, one of the people he was with were on edge because of him, or because of someone else. There'd barely been a year when one of his two closest friends, Ron and Hermione, hadn't fallen out with himself or each other. There was the time when Crookshanks drove a wedge between Ron and Hermione, when Ron wouldn't believe Harry about the Goblet of Fire, Harry wouldn't let himself count the number of times. And if they weren't on edge because of arguments, the danger Harry seemed to be in made people nervous. Harry shook his head. He wasn't going to think of all that. Even when thoughts of Sirius popped up into his head so he had to turn his head away to hide his watering eyes, Harry wouldn't let himself dwell on it. He felt that he deserved to constantly dwell on the death, but he knew Sirius wouldn't like him to do that, so he did his best to push it to the back of his mind. And it worked, but only because Suzie twigged his nose when she thought he was ignoring her.

'Ow, what did you do that for?' said Harry, rubbing his nose. Suzie rolled her eyes.

'Harry, it's the third time I've done it,' she said. 'You should have realised that by now.'

'Oh, yeah,' said Harry. 'Sorry.'

'Don't be sorry,' said Gemma, who'd been talking and now lent over to rub Harry's nose, which was starting to go a little red. 'She's just being all motherly like she usually does.'

'Weird way to be motherly, if you ask me,' said Simon. 'Seems to be violence. I'd hate to have a mother like Suzie. When will you tuck me up in bed with a glass of milk, Suzie? Tell me, when?'

Suzie rolled her eyes and fixed Simon with a look that said 'ha ha very funny, only it's so good I forgot to laugh.'

'Anyways,' Suzie continued. 'I reckon Skye should just dump Boyd. I mean they've been going out way to long, and that just isn't natural for people their age, is it. Or Boyd could dump Skye. Either way it's all good.'

Harry frowned, not sure what she was talking about.

'Oh god, you really haven't been paying attention,' said Suzie. 'Boyd and Skye, in Neighbours…?'

'Y'know,' said Simon, and he burst out into song. '_Neighbours, lick your…_'

Simon was prevented from finishing the line by Suzie whacking him around the head with the rolled up newspaper that she'd adopted as a weapon to keep him in check with. However, Simon danced out of reach of her and bellowed it out twice as loud.

'_Lick your bum and taste the flavours! Apple Strawberries Banaaaaanaa…I've forgotten the-rest-of-the woooorrrrdsss. That's when good flavours becooome good friieeends!_'

Harry laughed as he watched Simon dart about the room, who was closely followed by Suzie.

'_Jingle bells, batman smells, robin flew awaaay! Uncle Billy lost his will on the mo-tor-waay! Heey!_'

Suzie finally gave up, but only because she couldn't catch her breath for laughing, and Simon continued to dart and dance around the room in triumph, waving the newspaper around, which he had managed to wrestle off Suzie. Simon collapsed onto the bed and started humming to himself contentedly.

'You have to excuse lil' ole Si,' said Laura. 'He gets a little over excited sometimes.

'You should see him when he drinks coffee,' added Gemma. Simon raised his head.

'Coffee,' he said. 'Did somebody say coffee?'

'NO!,' yelled Suzie, Laura, Gemma and Fred simultaneously. Harry and Jez laughed and exchanged looks. Fred turned to Harry.

'If I were you,' he said solemnly. 'I'd hide your coffee.'

Fred hadn't said much for most of the evening, so this coming from him seemed to be very important indeed. Harry nodded.

'Simon,' said Laura. 'I get worried about you and coffee.'

'Well at least I don't drag people up into attics half the time,' retorted Simon.

'I don't think there's anything wrong with that,' said Fred. 'I quite like attics, too.'

'Exactly,' said Laura. 'They're iinteresting/i. Especially other peoples' attics.'

'Here it comes,' Gemma whispered in Harry's ear. Here what comes? thought Harry. Gemma and Suzie exchanged a look, Fred raised an eyebrow and Simon started doing a drum roll. Laura screwed up her face, crossed her arms and turned her head away defiantly.

'Oh you know you want to,' goaded Suzie. Laura flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Harry looked at Gemma with a confused look on his face, and she just grinned back. Laura seemed to be fighting some kind of primordial urge.

'Harry-can-I-see-yourattic,' she finally burst out.

Harry looked blank.

'Okay,' he said.

Harry gave Laura his hand and pulled her up into the attic. It wasn't much, just a bunch of boxes and odd bits and pieces. Now Harry came to think of it, it was the only place in the house (excluding, naturally, Harry's room) that Petunia didn't rule over with order and cleanliness and middle England conformity. But that wasn't so strange; after all, what was a house without an attic full of bits and bobs that you haven't brought yourself to throw away? It was as much the norm in middle England as the privet hedges that lined the street outside.

Harry sat down on a cardboard box and scratched the back of his neck. Now what was he forgetting? Ah yes, the torch. He nearly delved into his top to get his wand and whisper '_lumos_' to it, even though the exact words he'd thought were '_the_ _torch'_. His mind was starting to feel a little fuzzy. He grabbed the torch that he'd stuffed down the back of his trousers before he'd mounted the ladder to the attic and switched it on, shining it around the dark space.

'It's nothing special,' he said.

He looked up at her and saw that Laura didn't think that in the least. Her eyes were bright and alert and darted from corner to corner. She rushed forward and put her hand on one box, then looked up at Harry.

'Can I?' she said.

'I don't see why not,' said Harry, though he'd barely finished these words before she ripped open the top. A smile spread across her face.

'Old clothes,' she said as she looked up at Harry. She pulled out an old flimsy scarf, red and green and fluorescent pink, and threw it around her neck.

'Beautiful, huh?' she said. She yanked out a wide brimmed hat and put it on, and then a pair of large sunglasses.

'How do I look?' she asked, flourishing the brightly coloured scarf.

'Beautiful,' said Harry.

Laura danced around the box to Harry and grabbed him by the wrist, leading him up to the edge.

'Let's get you all done up,' she said.

A few minutes later Harry was wearing a tweed jacket with shoulder pads, a Pandora hat with a peacock feather stuck in the band, and a pair of tie-died hippy shorts and a ladies' shirt with delicate pastel flower print. Laura found a pair of thigh length rubber fishing boots for him to put on, but they were proving difficult to put on. At one point Harry went tumbling over backwards when trying to drag them on, and he lay there for about a minute as the both of them laughed hysterically before Laura helped him back up. When he finally got them on he stood up triumphantly, but the room had been slowly spinning around him for the last five minutes, and he stood up to quickly, so he stumbled forwards and tottered over.

'Woh, there, Harry,' said Laura as she caught him and helped him regain his balance. She laughed, looking at his face, which was slightly shocked from the suddenness of the fall. 'You've had a little too much to drink, haven't you?'

Harry nodded.

'Yeah, just a little,' he said. 'But I'll be fine.'

He pushed Laura away and demonstrated this by hopping around in a circle, but he bumped into an old hat stand and nearly fell over again.

Laura went back to delving around into the attic and Harry blew up and put on a pair of arm bands she threw him.

'Damn, it's harder than I remember to blow these things up,' he said, his face red, as he pushed them onto his arms. 'And hard to put on. They pinch.'

Laura sidled up to him with a mischievous smile on her face.

'Har-ry,' she said, poking his foot with hers to get his attention.

Harry looked up.

'What's that you've got behind your back,' he said suspiciously, leaning to the side. Laura turned to hide it from him.

'A surprise,' she said coyly.

'Okay,' said Harry. 'Surprise me.'

With a flourish, Laura produced a simple summer dress with a flower print. Harry looked at the deep blues and greens and other colours sceptically.

'You've got to be kidding,' he said.

Harry stood awkwardly as Laura inspected him.

'Oh, you do look nice,' she said. 'What lovely hairy legs you have. It sets off those heels beautifully.'

Harry lifted up the bottom of his dress and surveyed his legs. They were starting to get a little hairy.

'It's not a bad fit, either,' said Laura. 'What would you say about shaving your legs?'

'Not going to happen,' said Harry.

'Oh, well,' said Laura. 'Might as well say that; I can't decide whether it would look better shaved or not. You do have nice legs though. I didn't notice under your trousers. You should wear shorts more often, but be careful about your footwear. Sandles with sock, yeurgh.'

Harry blushed and dropped the dress. He rumpled his hair self-consciously.

'You look a little uncomfortable,' said Laura.

'No I'm fine,' he said. He looked out of the skylight. He was standing in a shaft of moonlight that shone through it; Laura had placed him there to get a better view of him, as the torches were only so good. He felt something being pushed into his hand and looked down to see a teddy bear.

'Good,' said Laura. 'In that case you can hold this.'

Laura walked backwards to get a better look and surveyed her masterpiece. Harry clasped the teddy to his chest clumsily.

'Nice teddy bear,' said Laura. 'Is it yours?'

Harry looked at it. Of course it wasn't his. The best ever got was things Dudley had chewed through or burnt or something. He missed that out of childhood, he supposed. He remembered one stuffed elephant he bought in a charity shop once when he was about eight. It was just after his birthday, now he came to think about it. Aunt Petunia in a charity shop might seem a bit strange to you; but she was dropping off a bag of donations. Harry held a fifty pence piece, part of his measly birthday present (which were slightly better in those days), gripped in his hand which he kept in his pocket. It was only forty-nine pee. Now he came to think about it, there was a girl at the counter who seemed a little butterfingers once she saw him, and she kept looking up and racking his face and smiling to herself. Anyway, Dudley, after a month, had claimed it for his own, and the Dursleys' had believed him, since there were so many toys of his that they didn't always remember them when they saw them. Dudley managed to break it some time later.

'It's familiar,' he said. 'So it must be Dudley's.'

It was familiar, now he came to think about it. He supposed he was having the same problems as the Dursleys with recognising Dudley's things.

'It was under the dress in a box,' said Laura. 'It's quite a find.'

She walked forwards and opened the skylight, letting fresh air into the stuffy attic. She stood on chest and rested her elbows on the window frame. Harry shivered as a breeze hit his bare legs, even though it wasn't that cold, as the night was warm.

'I still say you look uncomfortable,' she said as she poked her head out of the window. 'You can change if you like. I won't bite.'

'No, I'm fine,' Harry repeated, thinking about his legs. They weren't _that_ hairy. They were just…_hairiier_. And if his hair wasn't black it wouldn't be noticeable at all.

'It's your choice,' she said. She jumped down from the chest and sat down. She opened a cardboard box next to her.

'Oh, brilliant, photos,' she said as she rifled through the photos. 'Let's see those embarrassing nude toddler pictures.'

Harry knelt down next to her and picked out a packet of pictures.

'Rah,' said Laura. 'Dudley was a hell of a big toddler. Ahh, look at his little blond curls.'

Harry looked at the picture laughed. Dudley was a grumpy looking toddler, and it was quite a contrast with his angelic curls.

'Hey,' said Laura, flipping through them. 'Where are you?'

She took another packet and began to rapidly look through it. Harry took a quick look at the photos Laura had discarded and was surprised to find that he wasn't in a single one.

'You're not here,' she said, looking up quizzically from the sixth packet.

The Dursleys must've thrown away the pictures of him.

'No,' Harry said awkwardly. 'No. I… I'm not sure really. I haven't really looked at the pictures until now.'

'Why wouldn't there be any pictures of you…?' Laura said vaguely as if to herself.

Harry had never though that the Dursleys hated him so much that they'd throw away any evidence of him whatsoever. They probably didn't want to be reminded of him. Harry sighed.

'They never really like having me here,' he said. 'They didn't…they didn't approve of my parents. They lied about them for years.'

Harry cleared his throat and stopped his eyes from misting over.

'You're parents…?' asked Laura.

'They're dead.'

Harry got up off his knees and sat down next to her.

'I…' said Laura. 'I'm not sure what I'm meant to say.'

Harry turned his face towards her.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'You don't need to say anything. I was so young when they died – I can't remember them. There's nothing there to miss.'

'Do they really hate you that much?' Laura said in a whisper.

'Who?' asked Harry.

'The Dursleys.'

Harry shrugged and found himself talking all about his life at the Dursleys and school (minus the obvious bits). He didn't know how long they stood there, but Harry talked and Laura listened and occasionally made comments and suggestions. This was the first time for he didn't know how long that he'd just been able to talk about his everyday normal life and it's problems.

'When you asked before,' said Harry after a pause. 'About feeling uncomfortable. Well, I idid/i feel uncomfortable, but… I can't explain it… I suppose I meant I hadn't felt as comfortable as I feel with you and Simon and the others for a long time.'

Laura blushed and looked down, trying to hide her pleasure at such a remark.

'That's the nicest thing someone's said to me… ever, I think,' she said, and she suddenly pecked him on the cheek and gave him a hug. Harry felt his cheeks go red, but then he laughed and hugged her back. They fell apart and sat there grinning eachother.

'Let's be friends,' said Laura. 'It's not often you find someone you can _really_ talk to. Promise to keep in touch?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, almost purring with pleasure.

'Hey, Laura! Harry!' Simon's voice called. 'Com down here and give us a hand.'

Laura looked at Harry, her face suddenly alive and her eyes sparkling. She squeezed his hand excitedly.

'Sounds like they've come up with some fun,' she said. 'C'mon, let's see what they're up to.'

She leapt off the chest and disappeared down the hatch. Harry followed her and jumped the last few feet to the floor. Simon, Suzie, Jez, Gemma and Fred had pulled Harry's mattress off his bed and was dragging it onto the landing. Harry automatically grabbed a corner and joined the argument about what was the best way to manoeuvre the thing through the door. They finally positioned it at the top of the stairs, and Suzie laughed triumphantly.

'I i_told_/i you it would fit,' she crowed as she prodded Simon in the chest. He shrugged and in turn prodded the mattress with his foot. He grinned and quickly looked up.

'Who gets to go first?' he said.

'There's room for two,' said Suzie, her eyes glinting and giving Simon a meaningful look. At that they both leapt onto the mattress, Suzie kicked off, and the mattress went rushing down the stairs. They front of the mattress suddenly caught on a step and it went tumbling over, taking Simon and Suzie with it. They landed at the bottom in a tangled mess under the mattress, laughing and groaning at the same time. They called out reassurances of wellbeing as they crawled out into the open. The mattress was adjusted at the bottom and Gemma, Jez and Fred dived down the stairs in turn on duvets and pillows.

Laura looked at her friends congregated at the foot at the stairs by the mattress and then at Harry with a funny smile on her face. She pushed Harry out of the way, walked down the hall, then turn and sprinted back the distance before hurling herself off the top step. She landed at the bottom triumphantly, but this triumph only lasted a second, as she immediately crumpled to the ground.

Her friends, and Harry, leapt forwards to make sure she was alright, but she waved them away merrily and limped off to the side.

'You're turn, Harry,' she said, and Simon and Suzie cheered and joined in.

Harry shook his head and felt a little sheepish. A grin spread across Simon's face, and his eyes met with Jez's. They glanced round at the others, and they started moving slowly towards Harry.

'Wha-what are you up to?' Harry said nervously as he back up the stairs, but it was too late. In a moment they had him suspended by each limb and were swinging hum back and forth at the top of the stairs.

'Ready?' yelled Jez. A chorus of affirmations answered his call, and he told Laura – who was still at the bottom of the stairs- to get out of the way before ordering Gemma, who was standing behind them giggling, to count them in.

'Three!'

Harry begged for mercy.

'Two!'

Harry threatened.

'One!'

Harry braced himself.

'Go.'

Harry went flying through the air, missed the mattress, and bounced on the stairs.

Howls filled Harry's ears but they seemed distant. He'd bounced. Normal people don't bounce. He looked up at the gaggle of people galumphing down the stairs after him, alternatively apologising and laughing. They hadn't noticed. Harry relaxed and managed a grin. Finally he laughed and looked from face to face, saying he was okay. Then he looked over Simon's shoulder and past Fred to see Laura. His stomach clenched. She had a confused look on her face and was looking at him suspiciously.

-0-

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia arrived home the next afternoon. Laura didn't show any further signs of having seen or not see, or none that couldn't be put down to Harry's paranoia. Harry had gotten up early, despite a slight hangover, and tidied the whole house. He didn't expect Dudley to do much, and any blame would go to Harry without any work from Dudley.

'I hope you haven't been up to anything… _unnatural_ while we were away,' Uncle Vernon said after his initial hair ruffling of Dudley, as Aunt Petunia wrapped her bony arms around their son. On hearing this she shot Harry and Vernon a narrow eyed looked, but seemed to choose to ignore the conversation.

Harry shook his head, trying not to think of his bouncing accident. Uncle Vernon chose to leave the subject at that, though his face showed unconvinced suspicion.

'What are you doing, loitering down here?' he asked Harry a few minutes later. Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

'Oh, how bizarre,' he said under his breath as he walked up the stairs. 'I don't know what's got into my head to want to spend more than a few seconds with you people. I think I'm coming down with something.'

He threw himself down on his bed feeling a little confused. It had never bothered him much to be sent away from them, but this time he could help feeling slightly dejected. He supposed that one glimpse of freedom, of how liberating life could be without being in school, made him realise how contained he was. He depended on Hogwarts for what little happiness he had, and this made the cage he inhabited while at the Dursleys' confine less his body, and more his mind.

-0-

Harry sat in his room. An unknown number of miles away another say in his room, but he had been there a lot longer than Harry. This might've had something to do with the bars on his window, or the heavy bolted door. Or it might've had something to do with the fact that he was trapped inside his own mind.

Everything in his room was neat and spotless. The stone floor shone and both shoes and the soles of feet squeaked as they walked across it. The simple bed was perfectly made with crisp sheets, though they were slightly greying from age, and punctuated with brightly coloured patches that covered holes. A few well read books were lined up on the dustless shelf in perfect order of size, and precisely folded newspapers were piled next to them. On the wall above the desk were a selection of photographs and newspaper clippings, each perfectly placed, with two millimetres between them.

At the desk itself, the young man was slowly, carefully taking cards from a deck and laying them down with a snap on the clean surface. Once finished, he surveyed the table and adjusted three or four cards and nodded in self tion. Then he raised his right hand, and held it face down about ten centimetres above one of then overturned cards. His eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitted and he appeared to be in deep, deep concentration. His breath deepened and slowed down and his eyes began to glaze over. Several minutes passed and with a quick flick of a wrist the man turned the card over. He registered the five of spades and his mouth curled into a satisfied smile. Then he raised both hands, and held them at twice the previous height, palm down, over the cards. He screwed his eyes closed and again assumed a look of sheer concentration. His hands roamed to and fro, and every few minutes he turned over a card. The whole time he did not open his eyes. The first card he picked up was the five of clubs, and he paired this with the five of spades. At the end of an hour he had half a dozen pairs of cards lined up on the left hand side of the table, each correctly matched with not only it's partner in value, but of colour too.

'It's nearly time, boy,' barked a voice behind the man. "Boy" turned around. What he saw was a round, red-faced, middle-aged, angry looking man with a large nose and dressed as a chef.

'Oh,' Boy said, a thin layer of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. 'I didn't realise it was Tuesday. I was waiting for seven o'clock. Thank you.'

'Thank you?' growled the fat cook. 'You call that thanks? Grovel on your knees, fool, and thank me with your face to the floor, but don't just half-heartedly say _thank you_.'

'Sorry, sir,' Boy choked, on the edge of tears. 'I…I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Please…'

'Oh, save your pleas for someone who might listen,' the cook spat. He grabbed Boy's perfectly combed hair and dragged him out of his chair before throwing him into a corner.

'Please…,' Boy whimpered. 'I…'

'Didn't you here me?' said the cook. 'Have you lost your hearing as well as you mind?'

As Boy cowered helplessly on the hard, cold stone, a bell rang from somewhere in the distance. All of a sudden mutterings and whispers filled the air. They were punctuated with sobs and the occasional wail, and both Boy and the cook looked up. Boy momentarily closed his eyes, and then looked up at the cruel face of the cook. The sound of a door being flung open reverberated through the corridor outside the cell. The corridor went momentarily silent, and the noises rose again to twice the previous level. A few seconds later, after the sounds of bolts being pulled back and locks unlocked, one voice rose above all the others.

'No, please, not her, I'm sorry,' it screamed before mutating into an undistinguishable stream of noises. This died down, and then another rose, and another, all the time getting closer.

The cook balled his fist, and Boy turned his face to the side in acceptance of his fate. The cook's fist came into contact with Boy's face over and over again, and his stomach, and when his arm tired he used his feet. Boy took blow after blow, and all the time the load outburst of terrified screams grew closer. At last they seemed to be right outside, and then the bolt on the door was drawn back, and in came a Dementor.

The cook continued to beat Boy long after the creature had place the food on the table and left. The cuts and bruises that had decorated Boy's face, limbs and torso beforehand were opened and pummelled to ridiculously vibrant shades.

The cook left him in a crumpled heap.

'Hey,' a soft voice said gently. Boy looked up to see a concerned face crouching down and peering at him.

'Tom,' Boy said with relief.

'You look bad,' said Tom.

Boy laughed, though not without some difficulty.

'Don't I always?' he said.

'You look worse than usual.'

Boy shrugged and tried to sit up, and when he started to struggle Tom helped him prop himself against the wall. He leant his head back and looked at Tom. He was dressed in worn, oldfashioned clothes, and had and thin, worry worn face for someone of his age. He looked in his teens, but on the cusp of manhood. His dark hair was unkempt, but out of neglect rather than intention, and he had a pale complexion. His movements wear slow and purposeful, and he seemed to be pondering something in a very slow, purposeful manner.

'You need to take care of yourself,' said Tom. 'It's getting worse. You're starting to hate yourself too much.'

Boy looked at him.

'You think?' he asked. Tom nodded.

'Not a good thing here. Bad sign,' he said.

'It was bound to happen some time, though,' said Boy.

'You're a good person,' said Tom.

'Am I?' said Boy, breathing heavily and looking away from Tom.

'You are,' said Tom. 'And a good friend. Remember that. It's coming from experience. I mean it.'

Boy smiled.

'Thanks,' he said.

Tom drew out a bottle of water from somewhere inside his coat, which he'd put over a chair. He poured some into Boy's mouth, who swallowed. He reached inside his coat again, this time withdrawing some strips of rough cloth, which he then used to bind Boy's various wounds. Tom took a left over strip, and applied it with water.

'Do me a favour, will you?' said Boy as Tom dabbed at the cuts on his face. Tom nodded and gave him a look that said 'anything'.

'Say my name.'

Tom looked at him quizzically for a moment, but then seemed as if he understood. He leant down and whispered in the young man's battered ear.


End file.
